A New Life: The 105th Hunger Games
by linnikinz
Summary: Geneva Rawthorne won the 104th Hunger Games. But when a mysterious woman she barely knows applies her for the job of a lifetime, not necessarily with the best intentions, things start to go a little crazy. It's closed, but please read!
1. A Creepy Fellow

**Hello everyone! The name's rlnintendo! If you're here, you probably read my last story, Lifestyle Changes: The 104th Hunger Games. If not well you're in luck. Just click my name up in the corner and check it out! This is the sequel that story. Again, this is another SYOT, so start sending in those tributes (the form for which is on my profile.) Down below is a snippet of my writing, so you can get a sense of it if you're too lazy to just read my other story.**

* * *

><p><strong>-Head Gamemaker Dalton Ruiz, The Capital-<strong>

The fragile warmth of my fat cat penetrates my skin. Her soft fur tickles my finger tips as a stroke her back. "Oh, Madeline, how beautiful you are." I stare adoringly at the scrunched up face of my feline, eyes squinty, purring. "If I were to ever lose you, I don't know how I'd manage. Oh, the thought of it all!" I pretend-faint backwards, hand on my forehead, when I hear the door crack open slowly behind me.

"Who is it? How dare you not knock!"

"I'm sorry, sir. I for-I forgot. Now, sir, you have a guest in the lobby, waiting for you."

"Send them up immediately. Is this about what I think it is?"

"I believe so, sir," he confirms as I swivel my chair around, just in time to see the small ginger boy exiting my office.

Madeline purrs. "I know sweetie, I know. Daddy's getting tired of this job too."

**-Personal Assistant Timothy Heevers, The Capital-**

I jump down the stairs as fast as I can manage without falling over my own feet. Can't disappoint Ruiz. Can't disappoint Ruiz. Flinging open the double doors to the lobby, I pant a sigh of relief. She's still here. She's still here. Calming down, I step behind the gray-haired woman and lightly tap her shoulder.

"Oh, yes, it's you. Hello again. I'm here to see the Head Gamemaker," she states, matter of factly, light curls bobbing up and down with each opening and closing of her jaw.

"Yes, I know, ma'am. You told me that before. He's ready for you now."

"Wonderful, thank you. I presume I should go this way?" she says, pointing to the stairs I came down.

"Oh, no. You can take the elevator. It's right over there," I casually correct, pointing to the metal doors.

"Thank you. And what may I call you should I see you again?"

"My name's Timothy. Call me Tim."

"Well thanks again- Tim," she adds before clicking the elevator up button.

**-Louise Correlim, The Capital-**

I ride the elevator in silence. Upon entering the vast room one calls an "office" the first thing I notice is the back of a swivel chair. Of course. Like one of those old-timey movies. The office is a large oval, shrouded in maroon, black, purple and brown. The intricately designed carpet rests under my feet and I politely knock on the door, to signify that I'm here.

"I knew you were here," a voice croaks. "No need to accentuate your presence." The black chair spins around revealing a graying man, possibly my age, likely a decade younger, maybe. A salt and pepper beard layers his chin and a mustache sits above his lip. He wears a purple robe, embroidered with gold. "Tell me your name. And why you are here."

"I'm Doctor Louise Correlim. I...heard about your job request and I believe I found the perfect candida-"

"Your name. It seems...familiar. Where may I have heard of you?" he inquires, an air of uncertainty lingering in his voice.

"Well, recently I served as doctor and surgeon for our current victor, Geneva Rawthorne."

"Yes, yes, now I remember you. Never expected that one to win my games. Ha ha ha ha ha. Shows me that I'm losing my luster if someone as worthless as that can kill that crazy little child from One, what was his name? Marble?"

"Obsidian."

"Right, Obsidian. He was quite an interesting character. Anyway, who is this candidate you speak of?" he asks, returning to our previous topic, stroking his fat white Persian cat. "I'm interested."

I stare at him quizzically. He really can't tell what I'm about to say? Avoiding eye contact, I state: "Well, sir, we already spoke of her. Geneva Rawthorne. She really-"

"Why would I want that to be my apprentice? Have you lost your marbles, Doctor?" The Head Gamemaker stares at me, confused and perturbed by my suggestion. "Did you see how she tripped over her own feet? She's an idiot."

"Check your facts, sir. Look at what she accomplished." I extend a long, bony finger towards the papers cluttered over his desk, contrasting the polish of the rest of the room.

"Show me." I walk up and trudge along the fancy carpet, finally stopping beyond the fine wood desk, shadowing the Gamemaker. Reaching around him, I pull out Geneva's crisp file. Luckily, it looks exactly like mine from the hospital.

Pointing at one of the lines, I say, "She killed several people sir. Cyrilla Nexwell of 9. Simpson Parkas of 11-"

"He ran away from her and tripped into a river, then drowned."

"But she was threatening enough to scare him and cause him loss of focus. And she killed the expected victor, Tamri Willar, from 8. She's got the credentials, sir."

"Fine then. Bring her to me."

"But she's back home. She catches the train here tomorrow." I stare at him, unsure.

His eyes lock with mine. "Bring her to me as soon as possible. You may go now."

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you guys liked that! If you enjoyed it enough to send a tribute into my games, it'd be appreciated wholeheartedly. Remember, try to make them original and unique. We all know that nobody likes having "The Orphan Games." Oh, and if you submitted a tribute or submit on eventually, the accepted list will be on my profile as well. Nobody likes a rule breaker, after all. So get moving people! Chop chop!<strong>


	2. Everything's Spiraling

**Finally! I found time to publish this! Life's become pretty hectic with play rehearsals getting later and later. As you can see though, I've been trying my best to get all your tributes on the submission page of my profile. I don't want you guys to think I'm not accepting them! Oh, and please submit more! I'd love to collect them all and start the reapings! At least I have D1 filled and can start that. (Yes, I'm going to write them all this time.) Well, here's the next chapter on Geneva's quest.**

* * *

><p><strong>-Geneva Rawthorne, District 6-<strong>

"Wait wha- I don't get it. I... I haven't even gone on my victory tour yet and you want me to go back to the Capital for some sort of apprenticeship with a Gamemaker? Heck no."

"The Head Gamemaker. And Geneva, I don't think you quite get it just yet. But once you're there, all will be revealed. Your purpose will suddenly become clear. You can do a whole lot of good." Doctor smiled at me, Elex next to/behind her giving me a grandiose, exaggerated thumbs up.

"Bu- bu- but I don't want to kill people just like me!" I turn away, sullen, quickly followed by the two avid supporters of the idea.

"Oh, but darling, Geneva. You won't be creating the contraptions that kill. You'll just be an apprentice. You'll learn the tricks of the trade necessary to eventually become Head Gamemaker! You'll live a grand life! Even greater than one in Victor's Village!" Wild arm movements accentuate Elex's over-the-top voices and tones.

If I had known that the reason Elex and Louise wanted me to return to the Capital was to become a Gamemaker's apprentice, that thought my mom had to just stay here wouldn't have seemed so bad.

I stare longingly at my yellow little house here in the dreary District 6. Having a big house with the luxuries would be nice though, wouldn't it?

"Uhh... Um... I don't know. I guess I could be an apprentice? I wouldn't be killing, after all. Right?"

"Oh, uh, right. Of course. No killing for you." Elex nods his head approvingly. Maybe this won't be so bad. With a flick of his wrist, he adds, "Now go say goodbye to that lovely mother of yours."

"And tell her we say thank you!" Louise chimes in as I close the screen door behind me.

**-Head Gamemaker Dalton Ruiz, The Capital-**

I have no idea how I've managed to teach Geneva everything I know over these past two months. About four weeks ago, I discovered the first sign of something being off.

I was instructing my dear apprentice one night while traveling from District 8 to District 7, when I started feeling incredibly warm. I felt slightly lightheaded that morning, but thought nothing of it. It could have just been the motion for all I knew. I was sweating excessively that night, in fact my papers and documents almost became illegible, they were drenched in so much liquid.

I had to cancel that session early due to the inability for me to go on, and upon entering my car for a night's rest, my head started to slightly ache. Something wasn't good, but I'm not one to give up. Not in the slightest.

The next morning, I lifted my heavy head off the plushy pillow only to be met by a ravenous cough. Things were only getting worse. Trudging to the food car, I sat in the seat next to my darling apprentice.

"You don't look very well," she said perkily, with unsure eyes. "Are you okay? Oh oh oh! Is this related to yesterday night? No training today I'm guessing?" Geneva hit the table hard with her hand, causing my glass of orange juice to jump up and spill all over the table, her lap, and mine. "Oh, I'm so sorry Dalto- I mean, Mr. Ruiz. I'll just go and fix that." The girl jumped up out of her seat, incidentally knocking her chair down In the process. "Hehe...sorry." She frolicked to the counter and picked up a scrappy handful of our lovely Capital napkins. They're soft and smooth as a baby's bottom, I swear.

After cleaning up the gargantuan mess, I finally got the undisturbed chance to speak with her that I required. "Geneva," I said sternly, "as you can see I'm getting rather ill. I must cancel our lessons as planned for this week. You-"

"You wha- no lessons!"

"None this week," I declare. "Though you may study privately on your own if you desire."

"Ha! Right, like I'm gonna do that- I mean... Of course! What better way to spend my time?" She lied, as she tried her attempt at backing slowly out the door. But I knew what she was up to. And it was made even more clear as I heard the whooping wails of excitement reverberating around our next-door train car.

**-Geneva Rawthorne, District 6-**

Ever since that ride from 8 to 7, Dalton's illness has been spiraling. Recently, he started vomiting and complaining of severe nausea. I heard a rumor that he even puked on a nurse's chest when she stopped by to check in on him. That's going to be a toughie to live down.

He's been bed ridden for quite some time now. Lessons have stopped since that initial canceling because he's never gotten better, at first it was exciting because I've been free to do what I please aside from the stops in the districts, but lately life's been boring. Nothing to do.

Upon my most recent visit to his room, his face was a ghostly, sickly white. Dark bags grew larger and larger by the day under his eyes. A long mercury-filled thermometer ejected from his diseased mouth and the nurses were constantly rotating ice and heat on his head. The aged man was sprawled out the bed in a light pink, revealing robe. He was a disaster in every definition of the word.

I can't bear to imagine how he must feel. People rarely get this sick back in District 6; we are the medical district after all. Hopefully things don't crumble even lower, that's all we can wish for now. 

* * *

><p><strong>Hope you liked it! Now go submit tributes! We're getting there guys! We're getting there! Oh, and tell me: what do you think is going to happen to Geneva and Dalton? Review!<strong>


	3. District 1 Reapings: Frantic Whispers

**It's the first of the reapings! I know they get relatively repetitive, so I'll try to make them unique. I think these two tributes are pretty creative, so props to the creators. I'm sorry it's been taking a while to get chapters out, as I said last chapter, I've been busy. And guess what! I just found out that I'm going to be the freshman director of our spring musical this year! Damn Yankees, look out for me! This means that when I'm a junior and senior, I'll get to direct the musicals! Yay! Okay, anyway, here's District 1's reapings.**

* * *

><p><strong>-Aderyn November, District 1-<strong>

The morning sun glows barely visible over the tree line. Long shadows of the trees scatter the ground as I look down at the morning dew-layered grass below, traces with flowers. District 1 has beautiful flowers; you can see them just about anywhere in this forest.

After checking to make sure my feather is still in place in my hair, I grab onto the branch I balance on and release myself below, still grasping with my palms and fingertips. Kicking my legs, I initiate a swing towards a near tree. My hands release the branch and I soar through the air, exactly as I did when I was a young child.

Clutching the new tree limb, I swing up and around, landing flat on the branch with my bottom. I can't help but belong here. It's where I spend most of my time. It's where I lived for the first five years of my life anyway.

I climb a ways higher in this tree. "Tweet tweedee dee!" I chirp to the sky.

"Tweedle lee," I hear in response, followed the flash of blue in front of me.

I feel a slight pressure on my left shoulder, causing me to flinch. I look over. Oh, it's just one of my bluejays. "Hey little fella. How is your morning so far?" The bird stares blankly, followed by a soft chirp. "I think so too!" I reply merrily.

I grab some feed out of my pocket and extend my open palm to the jay. The light pokes of his beak to my skin is like music to my ears. I'm making a difference to something.

**-Thorn O'Hanahan, District 1-**

I see her every day running into the woods from our neighborhood. That feather in her hair. That pale complexion. That frail body. You can't mistake her when you see her. Everyone knows her, yet she's incredibly unpopular (unlike me). It's impossible to have never heard her story.

Apparently when she was five she was discovered by some bird and foul hunter who then took her in, legally adopted her, named her (after the month they found her) and then taught her English. It's rather miraculous. Geez, why the hell couldn't I have a miracle story like this. I'd be more freaking popular than I already am!

"Brick, come on! Keep up! We can catch her if we run quickly and quietly," I say to my friend.

"Thorn, stop talking. These bushes are too thorny! Ha ha... Get it? Thorny? You know? Because your name is Thorn and we are running through prickly bushes and-"

"Brick, I get it! Now shut up and don't let her hear or see you. Just, uh, I don't know! Duck and hide! I've got this!"

Her back turned away, I do my best to avoid the crinkly leaves on the ground and awkwardly hop towards the tree she rests in. Standing solidly at the base, I gibe "How's it going up there bird nerd! Made any new friends?" The girl's head pops up and I watch frozen as she wobbles back and forth, balance lost. She collapses to the ground, a huddles mass.

"Oh, shit, Thorn! Get the fuck away! Abort mission! Abort mission!" Brick screams, terrified. He's such a loser. But that doesn't stop me from running away fast as hell with him.

**-Aderyn November, District 1-**

My dreary eyes blink open to find myself surrounded by leaves and twigs. I pick myself up and brush off some scraps, only to find specks of blood from small cuts and scrapes layering my palms and side.

Thorn. I hate that boy, always causing other loners and me trouble. He just finds pleasure out of harassing weaker kids and I'm so sick of it. Too bad I'll never be able to do anything about that myself.

Wandering towards the edge of the forest, back towards town, I hear the call of the same escort as last year: a tall, preppy old man who I recall has yellow eyes. "Good morning District 1! What an honor it is to be here with all of you again for another fine Reaping!"

Oh, darn it. I'm late. Sprinting, I head towards town square where all the action commenced. And I make it just in time. "We'll start with the male name!" he says. The escort fumbles around with the slips in the bowl for a bit before finally pulling a name."Sorry, couldn't get a good grip. The male tribute is Harlem McKey!"

"I volunteer!" A familiar voice shouts. I watch intently as a muscular young man with white-blonde hair strides up the stairs. Thorn. Ha, serves him right. Though, he does look dashing in his vest and pressed chinos, it doesn't make me despise him any less. I try to look on the bright side, but this guy. He doesn't help my cause.

"Well isn't this a surprise! Mr. O'Hanahan! I've worked with your mother before. District One, meet your male tribute, Thorn O'Hanahan!"

"Yep, my name's Thorn O'Hanahan! Look out for me this year, District One!" He says, followed by his typical pearly white grin. His smile projects over the screen towards the audience, radiating "I think I'm better than you all!"

The escort travels back towards the glass bowls, and dips in his hand. "Are you all ready for the girl tribute?" I stand silent as the rest of the district raves. "It's... Aderyn November! Come on up sweetie!"

**-Thorn O'Hanahan District 1-**

The audience goes silent and a thud reverberates around the lot. "Somebody help get her on stage!" A course female voice yells, hands thrashing overhead to mark her location. It takes me a second to realize that this is the Aderyn November, formally feral girl, the one I meet in the forest.

The sad girl is lifted up and carried to the stage as her eyes open. Silent tears flood the corners if her eyes as she tries her best to stand proudly towards the audience. She crumples down into a heap on the stage and lets the tears flow.

Sme random-ass jay caws overhead. "I love you too," I barely hear Aderyn whisper.

"Well would you look at that, it's Aderyn Novem-"

"I'm sorry to interrupt, District One, but recent news must be reported from the Capital." Caesar Flickerman's face and voice flash over the screen above. "It has been reported that our Head Gamemaker, Dalton Ruiz, has been found dead. Doctors are searching for the cause now. There is no need to worry and all will be solved soon. Thank you."

Hushed, frantic whispers envelope the audience. What is this crap? I lost all my attention!

* * *

><p><strong>We have a couple more open spots so go send in those last few tributes! If I get more than necessary, I'm going to have to pick the best ones, so make sure they're great! Thanks guys! Review!<strong>


	4. District 2 Reapings: Liar!

**I'm sorry this took so long to get out. I've been having family issues. (Both my mom and grandmother were recently diagnosed with potentially fatal diseases...) It took me a week to even sink in and I sort of went into a downward spiral. And theeeeeeen when I tried to update my iPad (which I write on in notes) to iOS 5, I lost all my notes, so I had to rewrite all that I had...**

**So that's that. I'm sorry readers. I'll try to get out of this slump for you.**

**I hope I did these characters justice. (And to the creators, just PM me if what I wrote isn't really like them. I've been trying my best.)**

* * *

><p><strong>-Loula Sanez, District 2-<strong>

"Lou, why don't you go get some more training in today before the Reapings. You never know if it'll be you," my dad says with an elbow nudge to my side and a smirk on his relatively-young-for-a-parent-of-a-sixteen-year-old face.

"Dad," I start, annoyed, "you know I'm not volunteering for like, two years, right?"

"Of course, but you never know. No go. Off to the gym with you!"

I grumble resistantly. "You can't make me do anything! I can control myself."

"I'm your father. I have authority over you. And you're being awfully immature again, Loula. You've got to get that under control. I say you stop hanging out with your sister and her friends. Make some acquaintances of your own. Now go train!" He locks a stiff finger towards the door, hinting at my supposed exit.

"Fine, whatever."

The trip to the gym is a drag. I easily jog the whole distance, waving at people and being rather kind.

Upon entering the lovely, fancy gym, there is only one other person in and he's using a treadmill. I walk up to the one next to him, setting the machine to medium power.

"Hi. I'm Loula." I smile shyly and amicably.

"Ripp." His eyes are exploding with anger. You can practically see the smoke leaking from his ears. Standing next to him, I notice I'm taller than he is (and I'm not that tall, ha ha.)

"That's a cool name. Ripp. Sounds very...tough." His eyes temporarily light up brightly, clearly enthused, before calming them back down and continuing his jog. "You work out a lot?"

"Enough. If I'm to become a peacekeeper, I've got to, after all." His hands meddle with the settings on the machine as his feet continue the heavy run. Hazel eyes stay locked on the statistics displayed on the treadmill.

Glancing around the room, I hear a knocking at the door followed by a high-pitched male voice. "Yo, Boris, you in here? There you are man, been looking all around for ya." The guy runs up behind Ripp and gives him a pat on the back. What the heck is going on... and who's Boris?

"I think you must be confused," I initiate, "this is Ripp. He just told me so."

"Wai-what? Oh... Oh, oh I gotcha, I gotcha. Right. Ripp. Definitely." Ripp plants daggers in this boy's eyes and then receives a nudge in the stomach in return.

I'm so confused.

"I'm Nate. Nice to make your acquaintance, my dear," he jokes with obvious sarcasm. "Now...Ripp...we should probably head to the Reapings. You know the only thing worse an being reaped is the punishment after being late."

"Haha! That's a good one!" I cry out as Nate and Ripp walk out the door. You know, I should probably get going too. I need to change into appropriate attire.

**-Boris Ferox, District 2-**

"Come on man! Who you foolin'?" Nate cries out once we are out of earshot. He's always been one to call himself..."gangsta." I don't quite get it. The Peacekeepers would never accept someone with that sort of attitude. Sometimes it makes me question whether he really wants to be a peacekeeper at all, or is just going along for the ride.

"Clearly her," I answer.

"How do ya know she ain't foolin' you man? She could be playin' stupid. I hear girls do that a lot."

"Nate, she seemed genuinely naive. She thinks I'm Ripp, and that's all that matters." Ripp. I could get used to that. "Now, Nate, my boy, where's Erik. I don't want to go to the Reapings alone."

"Oh, yeah. You didn't notice him? He's over there." He points to Erik Lamont, one of the most popular kids still eligible for the Reapings. He's surrounded by girls and guys alike, all wanting to get to know him, or suck up to him. Too bad for them I'm number two.

"Thanks, Nate. Let's go see what Erik wants from us. I mean, we need to make sure we do what he wants. Don't want to disappoint." Nobody, especially I, don't want to let Erik down. Since he leads our group of to-be-peacekeepers, we can't allow him to give us a bad name. That's why you should always do what he says.

Finally, he separates himself from his followers and meets with his original posse, all of us that train. We split into our age groups, which are generally all the same except for a few outliers, only by a couple of years.

A raunchy, skimpily dressed young lady takes the stage. "Welcome to thissss years Reapings, District 2!" A strong, feminine voice purrs. "Who elssse is looking forward to a fantassssstic Hunger Games. She over-exaggerates and holds almost every "s" she says, like a mix of a cat and a snake. "You all know the Hunger Gamessss shpiel, you hear it every year. How about we just get sssstraight to the names."

She reaches her long-fingernail-coated claws into the glass bowl and removes a slip between two nails. The static of the unfolding paper projects over the crowd. "This year's girl is..." Two long breaths escape her mouth. "Lara Sanez." A hushed whisper spreads over the audience.

**-Loula Sanez, District 2-**

One slip! One slip, that's all she had! Her name was entered once and it was picked. "Lara Sanez," just what I was hoping for. Not.

"I volunteer!" I didn't know a roar so fierce and menacing could even escape my body, but I guess that's what you get for messing with my little sis.

I shove my way through the crowd, punching any bodies in the way. "That was my nose!" One calls. Like I care.

After a challenging obstacle course of people, I make my way to the stairs, and trudge up them.

"Your name?" The sex-on-a-stick escort asks.

"Loula Sanez. How dare you try to stick my sister in these games." The audience's stirring stops. I glance into the collection of my district, District 2. I watch my sister from behind as she weasels her way back to her roped off section. She turns around and looks me in the eye. She's crying.

I may never see her again.

**-Boris Ferox, District 2-**

"Time for the...boyssss..."

"Will you get on with it!" A man screams. That's my type of guy.

She smolders to the audience, obviously attracting the Capitol men who are probably you-know-what-ing to her on the screen. "Well then," the escort says, "our boy is Borissss Ferox."

Are you freaking kidding me? Seriously? How the hell am I going to become a peacekeeper of I don't...wait. I will live. What am I thinking?

I storm up to the stage and peel the mic out of her lightly tanned, smooth hands. Confidently, I stare out at the audience. I can do this, I'm sure I can.

Eventually, the ceremony ends and we are released to the goodbye room. My dad enters.

Wait what? My dad? "Why are you here?" My eyes glance up and down his body, eventually locking with his.

"Because you're my son and I'm going to miss you. Like any good father."

"Any good father! You scream at me every day of my life and you call yourself a 'good father'? Are you out of your mind?" The volume of my voice increases word by word. He can't be serious.

Tears start streaming down his unshaven face. "You're my son. I'm sorry for the way I've treated you and you never deserved it.

Liar! I launch out of my seat into the air. My hard fist nabs him in the cheek. Blood drips down his cheek and honestly, it's satisfying. If I can beat a grown man like this, there's no way I can't win these games.

**-Loula Sanez, District 2-**

Wait… I thought his name was Ripp! Oh my goodness! He lied to me! He's got another thing coming if he thinks he can mess with me like that. Better not pull something like that again.

* * *

><p><strong>ONE MORE GUY DISTRICT 12 SPOT. GET THAT ONE CHARACTER IN. I'LL PICK THE BEST ONE IF I GET MULTIPLE, SO MAKE IT GOOD. Thank you all! Here's to getting District 3 Reapings out sooner than this one!<strong>


	5. District 3 Reapings: To Add Injury

**I apologize if this seems a bit rushed towards the end. Immediately after publishing D2 I started this and it was going great. Then I found out a bit more about school and my family and other tough info to swallow, and I took a bit of a break. But I really wanted to get this out so I'm dreadfully sorry if the end isn't as interesting as the start.**

**AND PLEASE REVIEW. I'VE BEEN GETTING ABOUT ZERO PER CHAPTER AND IT MAKES ME SAD AND IT MAKES ME FEEL AS IF ALL THIS EFFORT IS A WASTE. So please... review?**

* * *

><p><strong>-Angelo Pattel, District 3-<br>**  
>The yellow metal radiates coolness through my waist. 26 inches. The same as yesterday. As long as I maintain the measure, everything will look normal.<p>

I slink downstairs after my morning ritual.

"Ange, glad to see your up. Here's your protein shake." My father slides the drink across the table with a satisfying whoosh.

"Thanks. Where's Mercy? And where's everyone else?" I take a big gulp of the foul gray liquid and slam it hard down onto the table. It's a little gross, but I've become accustomed to the taste. One could say it's almost become refreshing, cleansing.

"You're lucky today, Ange. Mercy and your other brothers-"

"Half brothers," I correct quickly and rather sharply.

"Right." He looks away uncomfortably and fiddles with his collar. Sometimes he's like a normal dad, respectful and caring. But other times I forget that. He turns cocky, mean, and I remember again that he's married several women before my mom. I'm just another son. Except, I'm not just another son. But we don't talk about that often. "Anyway, they all went to get an early start before the Reapings. They left before you woke up."

"Thank goodness," I mutter under my breath. I finish off my shake and head back upstairs to change into reaping clothes. I really don't understand why people dress nicely for this thing.

Passing the mirror in my room, I check myself, my appearance. All I see is the usual: a sharp, angular face with a bony chin and just as bony a body. Elbows sharp. Eyes piercing. I put my shaggy hair into two small braids framing my face, how I usually wear it and slip into black slacks. A white button down layers over my dark skin and I slip a thin black tie over my neck. This is as nice as they're going to get me, that's for sure. Though... I don't look that bad.

**-Johnathon Ackerman, District 3-**

The sudden sting pulses through my thumb. Dang wires, always out to get me. I throw the electric toy into the pile of junk that occupies the corner of my room, a mix of two things: everything I've ever asked for from my parents, and all my little tinkerings that never seem to work out. Though I can't understand why they don't... It's not like I'm stupid. I know what I'm doing.

I leave my room after my early morning work session and travel down the ornate staircase, one of the most in the entirety of District 3, to our grand basement-level closet, where I keep all my nicest clothes. Don't get me wrong, most of my clothing is nice, (I don't like not looking presentable) but these, down here, are the very best I've got.

Rummaging through the cleaner-than-clean and organized closet, a quick, tough pull is required to remove my designer suit. The black ensemble frames my slim body perfectly. But again, so do all my clothes.

I take a quick stop in the lower floor bathroom and head out on my way to the Reapings, avoiding my parents, they won't really care about what I'm up to anyway.

"Hey! Hey guys, it's Jon!" A boy calls from down the smooth, nicely paved street.

"Jon!"

"Jonathon!"

"Jon, watcha doin'?"

"Guys, calm down," I reply to my flock of what seems like pigeons. "We all know the answer."

"Right."

"Of course. The Reapings."

"Got it. Hey, Jon, got any new gadgets we can get from you?" I can barely see the world around my admirers.

"Geez, I don't get them so often guys! Calm yourselves!" Turning and quickly escaping in a different direction, I regain composure. Not only did I get rid of those pests, but I did it with style. Cool, nonchalant, impressive. I think I'm on to something.

Paying too much attention to my surroundings, I start to feel a hard pain in my big toe and before I know it, my pale face slams into the pavement below. Whoops. Getting onto my knees, I gently place my fingers to my lips, only to see them coated in a translucent red. Let me just… uh... Grabbing my collar, I yank it up to my lip, rubbing off the blood.

Whoa there- wait. What? Did I just...stain my suit? "Aww crap!" Angry and stressed, I huff off to my age section.

**-Angelo Pattel, District 3-**

"Welcome one and all to the District 3 Reapings!" The cheery lady calls to the crowd, of which I sit in. I loathe what I see around me: girly girls, caked with pink, blue, purple makeup. In skirts, feminine blouses. It makes me want to gag. Through the introduction, I try my best to shield my eyes from the horror and get through another year of this mess.

"Who do you think we should start with, District 3?" The lollipop (in personality and shape) escort asks. "The boys... Or the girls?" The audience cheers wildly for both, the difference between the intensity negligible. "Girls it is!" she screams, her overly large head of bubblegum pink hair bobbing up and down with each peppy step.

Swirling her hand around three times, she plucks a card from the glass bowl. A scowl crosses her face. "...Mira Pattel."

Oh...oh gosh. That's me. I'm Mira. Wha- what do I do? Hesitantly, I muster up some pride, and swagger to the stage, grasping the microphone. "I think there, uh, must be some mistake. I'm...Mira. And I'm a boy. You screwed up, missy." Maybe this is working out.

The young candy escort looks frazzled. "This...this can't be. The Capital doesn't make mistakes. You must...you must be a girl."

**-Jonathon Ackerman, District 3-  
><strong>  
>A lost, hesitant look crosses over the heshe's face. Releasing a groan and a long sigh, the tribute takes a step back, eyes scanning the crowd, roaming in spite. Someone needs some anger management classes. Something about that guy is...off. He's not quite...normal. He's got a secret.

But I guess I'll never find it out. He'll be dead soon anyway.

Suddenly, I feel a rough hand whack my tender back. "Get up there, Tard! You were freaking picked!"

Turning around, I see one of the larger fourteen year olds staring into my soul through my pupils. Quickly and spontaneously, he punches my gut. "Move!" He grunts. He...he wrinkled my new shirt.

"And there you have it everyone! Your District 3 tributes, Mira Pattel er- yeah, Mira Patell, and Jonathon Ackerman! Let's give 'em a hand!"

Our escort's long pink nails clutch and tear both mine and my partner's skin as our arms are lifted into the air. To add injury to injury. 

* * *

><p><strong>I'm going to go start D4 now...so let's hope I finish sooner than what I've been up to lately.<strong>

**!**


	6. District 4 Reapings: Gone

**Best Reaping so far! I'm pretty proud of this one...hopefully you guys like it.**

**I drew a lot of inspiration from these characters, so it made it a bit easier.**

**Please tell me what you guys think. This story hasn't gotten many reviews and it's making me very sad. I want people to read it and like it!**

**If I have to I'll start a sponsor system where reviewing gives you points, just to get reviews. I had one last SYOT but it got a bit complicated. I'm willing though if it means reviews.**

* * *

><p><strong>-Sylvester Moore Jr., District 4-<strong>

_The salty taste floods my mouth, my throat, my lungs. The pain is almost unbearable. Why can't it all end now? How am I… how am I even alive?_

_Hands clutch my body and carry me out of the water. _

_Gradually, my vision returns. The black fades away in layers as my eyes open to see the world again, a different world. My body lays strung out on the beach, but this isn't my body. This body I see has two fingers on its left hand. This body has a hunk bitten out of its calf. This body doesn't have a right shoulder._

_This isn't me. This isn't Sylvester Moore Jr. Who is this?_

"Hey, Sylvester. Sylvester? Are you okay?" A coarse hand grasps my bare shoulder, shaking hard.

My droopy eyes flutter open to see my dad, half-smiling. "I think you were having a… a bad dream again, son."

"Yeah, yeah. I was. I'm fine though." Regaining composure, I mutter to my dad: "I think I'm just going to go run. I'll… I'll be back before the Reapings."

Just as the door closes, by dad calls out, "Be careful!" _Don't worry, Dad. Since when am I _not _careful anymore, anyway?_

The air nips at my skin as I forgot to bring a sweatshirt or jacket. It's bearable though since it is not winter yet. A few rare leaves turn colors as the temperature cools and the year starts its journey into the end.

Repeating the motions one practices every day, to most people, would become a hassle or a bore. But for me, after all that's happened, it's what I need. Something steady, a base. A sturdy rock that I can call my own, and own. Something I can rely on and know that it won't abandon me like the ocean has.

Running does that for me.

**-Clover Wilson, District 4-**

Occasionally, the pressure I put on my foot becomes too much to bare. The strain, all the stress I make it go through just by living the motions of life have caused it to degenerate even more than after the initial injury. The healing is reversing. I'm un-healing.

Right now, for example. My bedroom is on the upper floor of our house, tucked away in the farthest corner. It used to be my nursery, but when I became a bit older my parents redecorated.

I used to think my room was the coolest in the house; I have a loft bed with an amazing desk below it, the walls all coated in shades of purple and blue, forming gradients adorning what used to be bare. The beanbag in the corner where I go just to relax, or study up on my plant or healing books. Everything's there. It was perfect. _Was._

But now sleeping here has become a quite a dilemma. Every time I need something from this room I have to limp across the house to get here. And every morning I need to climb down from my bed on a ladder, which certainly doesn't help my foot. Then I need to hobble across my room, through the upper floor, limp down the stairs, and then slip and slide across the smooth hardwood floor to get to even reach the kitchen for breakfast.

My parents couldn't seriously expect my foot to heal through all of this.

And then with _training_. Even the word makes me cringe. Every day for so long my father would make me train. He would work my butt off in hopes I'd volunteer and win the Hunger Games. I have the scars to prove it, hidden below my nice clothes and pretty jewelry.

And even when my arms are exposed, boys barely notice the cuts and bruises. They're too focused on my face: rosy red lips and emerald eyes (spotted with an amber color.) I guess that could be a good thing though.

But I barely need to worry about training anymore. Ever since my dad passed, the stress of life and the pressure he places on me has reduced. Things are getting better, even if my leg is getting worse.

Slowly, cautiously, I shuffle down from my bed and onto the floor, careful not to place too much pressure on my crippled limb. Rather quickly I grab some of my nicer clothing from out of my closet. I need to meet Patricia to head to the Reapings. Just another year, then I can rest.

My skirt flows and flies through the air of the kitchen as I dash (which for me isn't really dashing) around the house, gathering together breakfast for my mom. "How are you feeling this morning, Mother?" She sits at the wooden table, set for many, though only she and I ever eat here. Upon the sound of her name, her head bobs up. She doesn't say anything though, and settles back into her gaze, following the wood grain.

This is pretty much how she spends her time nowadays, since Dad died. She's been a bit disconnected.

Grabbing the cereal from the upper cabinet and a bowl from next to the refrigerator, I pour her breakfast, making sure to be speedy. "Have a nice morning, Mom. Take care of yourself. Be sure to get to the Reapings."

As I turn away, I see her look up and smile at me out of the corner of my eye. I guess she's kind of getting better?

**-Sylvester Moore Jr., District 4-**

"You look…sweaty," My dad remarks as I storm through the front door, satisfied with my run.

"Yeah, I suppose. It wasn't my best, wasn't the most challenging. But I guess it suffices," I comment back as I rest my hands on my knees, obviously, visibly tired.

"It sure looks like you pushed yourself."

"Well yeah, I guess. I should go change."

I run up the stairs, pulling off my damp shirt in the process, and after entering my bedroom to change, kneel down in front of one of my drawers and scour through it. My hands find a light blue button-up.

I've never worn this one to past Reapings since I just got this shirt recently using the money my Dad got from one of his fishing trips. He paid for it, surprisingly. After grabbing a pair of slacks, I trudge to the mirror.

Dang, I am sweaty. My chest glistens, accentuating my slightly protruding abs. I've built them up recently, working out and running, even if it is rather lopsided and off-kilter. My calves are definitely larger than they used to be also, though again, one is bigger, stronger than the other.

I pull my shirt over my head and down to cover my chest. Then I step into the slacks. I pull them up and return back to the lower floor. 

"Whoa, Mom. How long have you been here? I didn't see you," I ask in shock when I see her in the kitchen cooking breakfast.

"I was in here since you got back from your run. You just never came in and immediately went upstairs to change. It's nice to see you before the Reapings." A joyful smile crosses her friendly face, and she returns to the eggs in the pan, adding a dash of salt and pepper and some fish seasoning known only in District 4.

"Nice to see you too," I say. I take a seat in a raised chair and pull my legs up onto it, crossing them and wrapping my arms around my thighs, like a bug. And then I just sit there and take in the aroma of her savory breakfast, just waiting to enter my stomach

**-Clover Wilson, District 4-**

"Patricia? Patricia, where are you?" She told me she'd meet me here by the fountain.

"I'm right here, Clove. Stop worrying. My mom held me up because I got a stain on my dress. She made me go change. Sorry I'm late." Patricia stands there beautifully, her long pastel purple dress almost reaching the tile ground. It flows in layers, gradually getting bigger as it nears the floor. A light, thin headband adorns her blonde hair and keeps it out of her face.

"This _wasn't_ your original dress? It's so nice!" I ask.

"Yeah…This one's normally too fancy for the Reapings. I feel kind of out of place." Her head swivels, looking at what other people around are wearing. She is kind of out of place.

I'm wearing a light green dress with white lace. White sandals that nearly match my snow-white skin are strapped onto my small feet and a spring green handkerchief ties my unruly curly hair in place. "How about we go to the fifteen section. We need to be there soon anyways."

"Right."

The escort steps up on to the large pedestal. "Welcome, one and all to the 105th annual Hunger Games Reapings! I hope you're all so happy to attend!" His small hands clap furiously after his introduction. To be completely honest, I'm shocked they can even fit around his large stomach. He's sort of like one of those old-timey creatures people occasionally speak of. Dinosaurs? His arms are so short and his body's so large. Graying hair is combed over his head to cover several awkward bald spots. He's still a relatively new mentor, despite his old age. His first year was my first eligible year to be drawn, when I was twelve. "Let's get to it shall we?"

The audience roars in excitement. Patricia grabs my pale hand, as she can see I'm a bit fidgety. I tend to get like his in high-nerve situations. "The female tribute is…." He takes a long pause before opening the slip. "Clover Wilson!"

I can't see anything around me. All I can hear was the ringing of my name in my ears. Clover Wilson. As the female participant in the Hunger Games. I feel a hand touch my shoulder and I look up to see Patricia crying. She looks afraid. And for the first time, it is for me. I slowly walk to the stage in the space where the crowd parted. I reach the stage and the man stuck his hand into the slip box once again. He calls a boy's name, but I wasn't listening to it. All I can remember is Patricia's face. This isn't what I want. I am going to die in an arena. I am going off into the Hunger Games. Just like my father wanted.

**-Sylvester Moore Jr., District 4-**

A girl with curly hair, only tamed by a green handkerchief limps out of the fifteen section, seemingly totally unaware of her surroundings. All she seems to focus on is not totally collapsing to the ground in tears.

The fat escort man slips his hand into a different bowl and pulls out another crisp white card. "Sylvester Moore… Junior."

I hear my name called and revert to a familiar state. A state of pure terror so great that you seem to lose all sense of your surroundings. Everything goes blurry, unclear. I go through the motions I see every year, though it's different this time. It's happening to me. I walk up to the stage, say my name, hear the girl's name, Clover something. I wasn't really paying attention.

Eventually we are carried off to the station and left sitting on a bench. Clover's is on the opposite side of the room. My parents enter. Each sits on opposite sides of me. I feel my mom clench my fist, holding it tightly, sturdily. Like she never wants to let go. I wish she didn't have to. Her other hand gently strokes my light hair. Our eyes meet and she emits a soft, encouraging smile.

"Now Sylvester, listen to me. When you get in there, make a good alliance. Judge people. Find someone that will accept you for you and work with them, whoever they are. They should be strong enough to help you if anything ever happens to your…" He awkwardly pauses. Why is he talking so much? "Anyway, drink lots of water, eat as much food as you can. Live in the moment because that is the only time that matters. Don't worry about the future until it happens. You can get out of whatever situation you are in when that moment occurs. Be sure to get _something_ valuable from the cornucopia. Maybe it can save your life. Maybe you can use it as a bargaining tool to again, save your life. Whatever happens to you happens. You got that? You're a great kid, Sylvester. You can do this, I know it." My dad's voice is strong, steady. It's unusual for him as he's usually quieter. I like him like this. "Oh, and Sylvester?"

"Yes?"

His hand dives into his left pocket, you can see it grapple with something inside from the movement visible from the outside. "Take this. You'll need it to remember us. Especially me, when I'm gone."

I take a shark tooth necklace from the palm of his hand. "Gone?"

"I… I'm going on a fishing trip. Mr. Paulson, my boss, is sending a few of us on it. The boat leaves tonight… We have no choice." His eyes squint closed as a tear falls from the corner.

"But, Dad. It's the Hunger Games. You…you aren't even allowed to go. Nobody is allowed to miss it! It's illegal!" I pull my legs up onto the bench and circle my arms around my shins as I did earlier this morning. I nuzzle my head between my knees so nobody can see the tears streaming down my cheeks.

"I know. That's why we can't be found."

* * *

><p><strong>What did you guys think? Did it live up to expectations?<strong>

**Remember to review or I'll feel like everything's going to waste!**


	7. District 5 Reapings: Cooties!

**This is one of my better Reapings, I'd say.**

**I'm sorry you had such a long wait with this one. Our school just started its spring musical and I'm the Freshman director! The first boy they've had in fifteen years.**

**The way I initially wrote Gath was definitely not his character. I didn't like it, he didn't react how he should. I picture him kind of like Lennie from _Of Mice and Men_ and what I wrote was much darker. I think this describes him better. I get that this isn't my best writing, but I made an effort. Life's been hard and complicated and busy lately, so please bear with me.**

* * *

><p><strong>-Marlee Judah, District 5-<strong>

"Marlee! Marlee, get up! You can't lie in bed all day!" Grig roughly grabs the pillow out from below my head, lifts it up behind his head, and swings it hard down on me.

"Hey! You can't hit me! I'm a girl!"

He returns the pillow to the air and playfully whacks my head a couple more times. "Oh, really? With the way you treat people, I for sure would've thought otherwise." A sarcastic, menacing smirk crosses his lips as he drops the pillow to the floor and crosses his arms.

I smirk right back. "You know you're just insulting yourself by saying that guys are bad people?"

"She's right." Bridgbree stands in the doorway, arms pressing against the walls. Always there to support her older sister.

"That's my girl." I tussle her hair as she walks next to me, the same shade of reddish-brown as mine. She stands proud, contemptuous, and then plops down on my bed.

"You can't both go back to sleep! If you miss the Reapings you're dead. Literally." Grig rolls his chestnut eyes and stumbles out of the room, displeased.

"He needs to stop worrying," Bree mutters to herself. She crosses her arms and huffs quietly to herself, forgetting I'm right next to her. "I don't wanna go to the Reapings! I'm not even eligible!" Bree rips the sheets she just previously layered herself with and storms out of the room even faster than she entered. "It's not fair! A growing girl needs her beauty sleep!" I hear her yell from the other room.

Once I finally muster the ounces of strength scattered through my bones necessary to leave my bed, I do it. It's too bad I fall to the floor, desperate for sleep. So. Tired.

Thank goodness I didn't trim my nails like I meant to yesterday, or I wouldn't be able to crawl to my dresser on all fours…even though I look kind of like a dying pig.

"Now what in the hell are you doing?" I hear the repetitive stomping of Grig's foot on my floor. Without even looking, I know his posture. Standing straight, right leg out tapping, arms cross, and face just as cross.

Slowly, intent on expressing my true anger, I swivel my head to the side to face him. "I'm getting ready for the Reapings, dumbass. I'm tired as hell okay?

"Just...just hurry up."

"Yes, Mom... Grig! Grig, I'm sorry! I- I didn't mean it. Truly, I didn't!" Hastily, I rush off the grind and over to Grig, placing a light hand on his turned away shoulder, facing his back. He swats it off.

"You know... You know not to just... To just blurt out comments like that! You know how it makes me feel!"

"Grig... Grig, I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"Just go get ready. We're leaving in twenty."

**-Gath Phyllison, District 5-**

"Umm, excuse me? Sir? I- I think you, uh, dropped your penny?"

I turn around to face the man, his arm extended towards me with a shiny copper disk tucked in his hand. I feel my pockets. Gone. "Yes! Yes! Yes, it is! That is my penny! Oh, I'm so glad you found it." I grab the bony shoulders of the man and pull him in towards me, holding him with all my might so he takes in all of my appreciation. Still holding tight, I whisper, "I don't know what I would've done if I lost it! It's one of those things you can't live without, you know?" The man returns a blank, lost expression. "Oh, of course you know! Who am I kidding?"

"Um...right." See? See, he agrees with me.

"Well, I'll hope to see you 'round! I owe you one!" After leaning down to pick up some grocery bags and turning away to go back home, I look back to wave at the kind gentleman. He doesn't notice me though. He's too busy in a conversation with a tall blonde woman. Doesn't he realize he's going to get attacked by her cooties! Simultaneously, they both glance at me. The man I just met extends a pointer finger towards me.

Excited for the acknowledgement, I smile and wave. I don't really understand why they look away disgusted though. Whatever.

Soon enough though, I make it home. "Mommy, Daddy! I'm here! And I have the food for you guys!" I pick up all the bags straddling each arm and big-step to my parents in the living room. Both are perplexed by the game board in front of them. "Ooh, ooh! Go! Can I play? Can I play? The bags that were on my arms quickly fall to the floor. Cracks and clangs reverberate around the house. Plastic and paper is pierced by shards and liquids ooze around the wood floor. (My parents don't notice though, they are too busy with their game).

I run towards them with a leap over the mess and land with a thundering bang. My big hands push my mom to the side of the couch. "Okay, okay! Is it my turn?" I rub my palms together, thinking of a move.

"Gath! Hold on! Did you even notice the bloody nose you gave me? You shoved my," she takes a second and spits red up onto the couch, "face into the armrest!" Stewing, she huffs out of the room.

"Okay, my tur-"

"And what is this? You dare call these the groceries, Gath?" Her beet red angry face and black hair make a combination fit for the devil. Her fists and teeth are clenched, eyes shooting daggers right at me. It makes me uncomfortable, so I avert her gaze. "You will look at me, mister! You are sixteen years old, you should damn right be able to not make a mess around is house. Sometimes I wonder why you're so goddamn stupid! My lord! Just go to the freakin' Reapings."

**-Marlee Judah, District 5-**

"Excuse me. Excuse me! EXCUSE ME! I'm trying to get to the goddamn Reapings! Move the hell out of my way!" The group of teenagers part like the Red Sea as Grig and I pass through briskly. Bree already left us so she could wait alone in the not-eligible-group. That lucky girl.

"Welcome, one and all, to the annual District 5 Reapings! I'm sure you're all just as happy as I am to have the honor to announce one more boy and one more girl to die in the- I mean...act as tributes for the Hunger Games!" Temporarily, the blue haired woman twitched. But then she went upon her business, explaining how the games have come about. Typical Reapings.

"And now...the time you've all been awaiting. The drawing of names!" Like a bunny, she hops-skips-jumps-gallops to the other edge of what some might call a stage, behind two large glass bowls. Her massive blue hair bobs up and down with every motion. "What do you guys say? We start with the women?"

The crowd roars. Not me though, I stand there solemn and waiting.

"Mmmmarlee Judah! Ge up here, girl!" The escort beckons to the general crowd, obviously having not a clue where I may be coming from.

As I make my desperate march to the escort, I realize that maybe this isn't so bad. This could be a good thing for me...for us. Grig, Bree and I won't have to worry about living. Food will come to us; we won't have to buy it. And even if we did, we wouldn't have to worry about the money for it. We'd be well off. Better than we are now. This could be good.

This could be good.

**-Gath Phyllison, District 5-**

Eww! Ew! Ew! Ew ew ew! This happens every year! Girls! Everywhere! On stage, in the crowds, everywhere. At least we don't need to stand by them. We boys get some safety. But...but on stage. The girl was just called up. And then they call the boy, and he walks to the stage, they grab hands, hug, whatever, and then are held together with hands in the air! How does he not freak out? He's going to catch cooties!

The girl with fiery red hair kept arranged in a ponytail stands strong on the stage. As she should, she's being applauded! Her simple green dress scrapes against the ground, brushing a trail of dirt in her path. She's been holding it up with her hands. "My name is Marlee Judah," the girl says.

"And our boy..." she pauses, "is Gath Phyllison! Congratulations!"

Oh my gosh! Oh gosh, it's me! I was chosen. Woohoo! Yay! Yeah! Naturally, fueled by the rip-roaring of the audience, I sprint to where the girl is. "Outta my way! Outta my way! Sorry! They called me! I was called! I'm being cheered for! I bound up the stairs and grasp the escort all around and give her my tightest bear hug.

Wait... "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! You! You have...cooties! Get away from me!" Instantly I release my grip and the blue lady collapses to the ground. Her eyes shut and she lays limp.

Cold metal straps around my wrists as they are held locked behind me. A blindfold covers my eyes and fabric stuffs my mouth.

It's dark in here.

* * *

><p><strong>Okay, time to tell me what you think!<strong>

**REVIEW**


	8. District 6 Reapings: It's Called Sarcasm

**Again, another apology. I never mean for it to take so long to get chapters out but with Christmas and everything, and then vacation... I finally found time to write over the past three days and I cranked this one out. I must say, I rather like these characters.**

**Oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!**

* * *

><p><strong>-Acacia Bomber, District 6-<strong>

My eyes burst open to the loud, violent raucous in my room. Correction- our room, my twin and mine. "Wakey wakey, bitch! Get up, get up, get up!" My eyes focus to the image of Quin prancing obnoxiously (and she knows it) around my bed. Rudely she clangs a cowbell repeatedly. I don't even know how she gets these things!

"Why?" I plead, though I manage to smile through my discomfort.

"Oh, uh, no reason. Just thought I'd wake my lovely, beautiful sister up on Reaping day, that's all!" Quin smirks, sarcasm oozing through her malicious, ditzy veins.

I continue on in an effort to not give her the reaction she is searching for. "Well that's very kind of you, thank you."

Quin's smirk melts into a frown as the corners of her lips drop. She drops the bell and crosses her arms. "Why are you always like this! Nothing freakin' bothers you! It's all daisies and rainbows for you isn't it! Just like you're retard hippie hair! I'm done with this!" She storms violently out of our average-looking room, leaving her cowbell on the carpet.

"I quite like my hair," I whisper to myself. I drop back down onto my pillow and reach my arm up towards my hair. I continue to whisper to myself. "I think it's cool. It's like an oil slick. Dark, but rainbow." My eyelids flutter closed, but then I remember what Quin said. I do have to get ready, and I have to feed Mesa.

Quickly after tossing off my sheets and escaping the warmth of my bed, toss my hair into a messy French braid. In my opinion, they're easiest to manage.

The sunlight of the early morning shines on my pajamas in oranges and yellows as I head out to the back to feed Mesa. Even the light sound of my slippers on grass is enough for him to know I'm out to take care of him. His long nose shows first passing through the barn doors. The glossy black fur of the horse reflects the light in interesting ways, leaving what looks like areas of purple, blue, and dark red, again quite similar to my hair. I remember that being the first thing that drew me towards him.

Horses are a rare find in District 6, so when my mom took me to get one it was practically miraculous. They were all lined up in the stalls in a state of the art barn, one of the only types in the entire district. There were a few that captured my attention: a gray one with white spots and a black hair, a very sociable brown one that licked your face whenever you walked by it. They were all very beautiful. But then my mom nudged my shoulder. "See the light shining through the slats in the barn?" I answered yes, of course. "Look at how it reflects off of that black horse. It looks like your hair."

Me, being the eight year old I was, became elated. "I want that one, Mommy! Can I have that one please please please please please!" Needless to say, I got him, names him Mesa, and he's been mine ever since. You can't imagine how jealous Quin was when I came home with the little calf.

I grab an arms-full of hay and totter over to the aging horse. I place it down in front of him gently saying, "Even though you're already ten, you sure eat like a growing calf." I pet his nose and he winnies. "I love you too, buddy."

**-Winter Rockhall, District 6-**

"Mother, I know! Let me just finish up breakfast and I'll be right on it."

"Well eat faster dear, your mom needs that rope quickly!"

"I know, I know." I continue to shovel breakfast down my throat as my mother stares me down. "Would you stop looking at me and just finish your stitching? Please!"

She scoffs and disappears up the stairs. Finally, peace and quiet.

"Why aren't you out the door yet! Get that rope to your mother now!" Her voice reverberates down the stairs and into my tired eardrums. Can't she just stop yelling at me?

"I'm going, I'm going," I remark as I pull my coat over my shoulders and grab the hardy, thick brown rope from off the table. Little strings of the material fly out from the sides, uncontained. I throw it over my shoulder and trudge out the door, making sure to leave a slam so she knows I'm gone without question. I can just hear her saying _that's my boy._

The brisk coolness of the outdoors sends shivers down my spine as I tuck my hands into my pockets, making sure to properly balance the rope on my shoulder. Despite the temperature, the sun burns bright and strong through the morning sky, littered with light clouds. My eyes squint to form thin slits and my legs pedal quickly to get to the Reapings area as soon as I can.

It's not hard to imagine it. The brown stage made of decorated wood and trimmings. The sea of people flooding the land, so far and wide your eyes can't take in the entire thing without getting sore. It's easy to make its way back into your mind, especially when your mother has to leave early Reapings day every year since she is obligated to help set up.

"Hey, fattie! Over there!" I turn my head. "Yeah, you! Why you walking so determinedly? Where you trying to go? Your mommy? One of the…two of them!" The red-headed boy makes several obscene gestures, and that's all it takes to get me mad. You'd think he'd know.

I feel my face turning red as I run across the street to the boy, a year older than me. I've seen him in school. "What the fuck do you want with me! You should have damn well learned never to mess with the son of a strong-as-fuck peacekeeper! I can pound you little shitty face into a pulp of you provoke me any further and I don't think that that's what you were hoping for. Is it?" My beefy arm lands a punch right into his gut, and my leg hits him straight in the groin. "That's what you ge-"

"Hey! Hey, stop it!" A girls voice calls. I barely hear her footsteps moving towards me over the groans being emitted after each punch this boy gets. A girl, probably 17 or 18, runs towards us at full throttle, screaming. "Get away from him! Stop punching him! Stop it! Stop! He doesn't need to be hurt, stop!" Her hair shimmers in different colors through the light of the sun.

**-Acacia Bomber, District 6-**

"Put him down." I say through gritted teeth towards the burly kid with the red-head in his grasps. The boy falls to the ground. "Shoo! Go!" Like a nervous mouse, he squeaks and shimmies away.

"What was that about? You almost killed him!" I shout.

"I should have killed the damn kid! Thinks he can get one on me. He can't! He fucking can't!"

_Oh, this guy._ He's the one with the mouth of a sailor. I don't think he can get out a sentence without a curse word in it. He's the one with two moms. He gets made fun of a lot for it. "You're, uh…you're Winter right?"

"Yeah. How would you know?"

"I've…heard of you. Look, I've got to go and pick up some more hay for my horse before the Reapings. I'll see you 'round."

**-Winter Rockhall, District 6-**

A horse? In District 6? Things just get weirder and weirder, don't they?

I spot the group of Peacekeepers over the horizon setting up. I know my mom's in there somewhere. Aiming to be efficient, I grab my rope and swing it violently around and around until I notice a head perk up. The face extends an arm and beckons me towards her. "Bring it quick!" My mom calls, hunched over a stake in the ground to be the corner of one of the sections.

I run to her, and toss the rope through the air, my mom catching it with a flourish and lovely spin. "No funny business," I state, reaching her. She wraps her arms around me in a warm embrace. "Thanks, kid," she whispers.

I wiggle away, a bit uncomfortable. "No problem. So, uh, what should I do? I'll just go home."

"No, Winter! Why don't you just stay and wait for the Reapings to start? It's only in like an hour. By the time you get home you'll just have to leave again." She finishes wrapping one end of the rope to the pole with a tight knot, and walks to a different post farther away, and I follow her."

"Actually, I'll probably have about a half hour."

"And what in the world can you accomplish in a half hour?"

"A lot. I could organize my closet, or help mom sew something, or-"

"I get it. It was sarcasm." She raises her palm to her face. "You really got to learn about these things, Winter."

"Oh. Sorry."

"You should be!" She says, chuckling. "Don't look so glum. That was sarcasm again!"

This time it's me who facepalms. "Why don't you just stop being so sarcastic, then?"

"Fine, we'll vow to become less sarcastic after the Reapings. Is it a deal?" She extends her hand, the one that smacked her forehead.

"Deal."

**-Acacia Bomber, District 6-**

"Thanks a bunch," I say with a smile to the breeder. "It means a lot that you'd come out for me on the morning of the Reapings."

"Oh, it's no problem. Anything for the girl who adopted Mesa. He was one of our most unique horses. How is he now?" Bijette grins softly, inquisitively. She leans her elbows onto a stall door. A light yellow, blonde, horse licks her cheek from within the stall. "I know you're hungry, Chowder, but you just had breakfast. Cool it, okay?" The horse, Chowder, whinnies.

"Haha. Mesa is wonderful. Lively as ever, and still beautiful. But I think I've got to go. And I still need to prepare for the Reapings! Thanks a lot Bij!" I wave to her as I run out of the barn.

I lose a bit of hay that fell out of my arms as I run home, but it's no big deal. This is enough to get us by for today and tomorrow. I run into Mesa's barn and drop the hay. "Sorry Mesa, but I can't stay! Gotta get ready!"

I run out and into my house and up to my room. The outfit I have planned to wear for the Reapings lays on my floor. I put it together last night. I throw on my short black shorts and dark blue tank top, as well as strappy brown heels. I keep my hair in the same French braid from earlier, and run out the door.

"See you later Mom! Bye Dad! I'll meet you after the Reapings!"

The plaza is stuffed with people of all ages, shape, and size. I barely make it in time, because right when I wander shuffle into my area the escort is already up on the stage and speaking. Her purple lips glitter like stars under the bright light. "Welcome, one and all to the District 6 105th Annual Reapings!" With each movement of her mouth, the fluoresced individual sparkles you see change. It is quite the sight. "I am not going to make you go through the same old story as you do every year. Let's just get right down to business!" She shuffles over, barely able to move in her restricting purple pencil skirt, to the glass bowls. I guess we'll start with the ladies!"

The crowd emits a slight applaud, not much more than we usually get though. Even I poke fun at the mutual dislike of the Hunger Games in the district.

"Acacia Bomber!" The escort calls. "Congratulations!"

What are the odds that I get reaped my last eligible year? What are the odds?

And who's going to take care of Mesa!

**-Winter Rockhall, District 6-**

That's… That's the girl that forced me to drop that boy earlier this morning.

She was reaped. A peacemaker, reaped to fight to the death against 23 other children. Now that's not fair.

"And for the boys…It's Winter Rockhall! Get up hear young man!" The escort decked out in purple claps boisterously, alone.

"FUCKING DAMMIT! Move out of my way!" The crowd of boys before me part and my leg extends to the right out of anger, kicking whoever was there.

"Ouch!" They call.

"Get over it! I don't see you being fucking reaped, now do I?" They immediately back off. I don't even look back at him.

"Well that's it, everybody! May the odds be ever in your favor!"

Wait… I may not ever get to see my mom being less sarcastic. Dammit.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope it was okay! It was a longer one, so that's always good.<strong>

**I think next chapter is going to be an update on Geneva...**

**And then (since I definitely can't write another six reapings) I'm going to make the last six districts have POVs during training. I am a bit reluctant to do this since some of the characters are incredibly intriguing and their Reapings would be cool...but I just can't. Sorry!**

**I'm not going to do interviews or chariots. They get boring and repetitive.**

**NOW GO REVIEW. I BEG OF YOU.**


	9. Don't Make Me

**The ball drops, and you want to know the first thing I do? Watch some of the musical performances. You want to know the second thing I do? Go to my room and start writing. At One in the morning. I wrote a short Geneva-update chapter, just to peak your interests, and here it is.**

* * *

><p><strong>-Geneva Rawthorne, The Capital-<strong>

"Geneva. Geneva, please. I promise…everything will be alright. There's no reason to cry. You will be okay and you'll get through this. I promise."

"No, you don't get it! Dalton was like a father to me! He was the person I needed in my life to fill that role since I lost my dad, and now he's gone! HE'S GONE!" Tears stream down my flushed cheeks and my voice croaks unrecognizable syllables. I push myself out of my chair and race to the door to escape from the pain.

My pale brown hands grip the cold metal and I pull towards me with all my might, but it doesn't budge. "Why is it locked! What do you want from me? Let me go, Louise! Let me go!" I kick the unyielding door and run to the other side of the all-gray room. My shoulder leans against the wall and I slowly slink to the floor. "Please," I beg.

"We…we can't do that yet, Geneva. We brought you in here for a reason. The Capital collapsed into calamity after the death of Mr. Ruiz a week ago. You know that, you witnessed it. But it gets worse. There was a part you didn't see." Dr. Correlim rises from her seat opposite where I previously sat on the other side of the table. She starts to turn towards me but freezes, and stays standing behind her chair. "You see…the following day, there was a…a freak accident."

"Oh, what now?" I plead. "Just tell me."

"You were with Timothy? You were comforting each other after the dea-"

"Just say it!" I screech. Louise flinches back, but continues.

"You see, uh… the Gamemaker building… It caught fire. The whole thing burned down like a straw house. It didn't stand a chance." Louise looks down at the floor, sollen.

"So? We lose the equipment, big deal. We can redo that quickly enough, the Gamemakers remember what the arena was. They don't need to reinvent the wheel. I'm sure they-"

"There are no more Gamemakers."

"…what? What do you mean 'there are no more Gamemakers?'"

"They all died in the fire. Most were so busy typing and planning away on their computers that they didn't even notice the smoke. Most died from excessive inhalation. Some died from debris falling on them, but most were dead before the building started to crumble."

"No! NO! But…but what does that mean for the Games? What are we supposed to do?"

"Well…Geneva. You're the only 'Gamemaker' in the loosest sense of the word, still alive. That means that you're-"

"NO! No no no no no! I can't do it, Louise! Don't say it! I can't do that! I just got out last year from this torture. I can't plan the deaths of other kids. Don't make me. You can't!" By now I'm well off of the floor and on the other side of the room. I feel like collapsing right here and now, just to leave it all. I can't take this, really, I can't. It's too much responsibility. I can't kill kids! They're my own freakin' age! "Don't make me, Louise! Don't make me!" Tears stream down my swollen cheeks and my eyes sting from the salty tears flooding them. "I can't do it!"

I run to the door, frantic. I whisper to myself, "You've got to get out of here Geneva. You can't stay here. Go home. Go back to District 6. Where things are safe. Forget it all; Let the Capital figure itself out. What's the worst that can happen?" My forehead rests on the door, unable to move.

"Geneva. Geneva, look at me." I turn my head. "I can't let you out of this room until I see you emotionally stable enough to handle yourself. Do you want to get back to-"

"My home?" I butt in.

"My apartment," Dr. Correlim corrects. "Where you can sleep on a nice bed, think things over. Relax."

"I want to go home!" Shouting leaves my mouth again, angry at Dr. Correlim's refusal to even give District 6 a space in her head.

"WELL THAT'S NOT HAPPENING TODAY! Now calm down, take deep breaths, and then we'll leave."

**-Timothy Heevers, The Capital-**

I stare blankly at the screen on the television: a roaring fire tearing apart the Gamemaker building. Honestly, I can't believe it's still on the news. This happened five or six days ago. The same clip keeps replaying. It's of the entire cycle, beginning to end, on fast. It starts with the building releasing smoke, eventually with orange, red and yellow flames licking the edges of the bottom of the building from a couple of sides. Gradually, the flames rise, engulfing the entire building. There's no sound, but you can practically hear the screams. More and more smoke billows out of the few open windows, and before long, the unthinkable happens. The entire thing collapses. Falls to the grounds. And that's it.

The cycle starts again on the screen.

"This just in," a man pops onto the screen, interrupting the cycle. "Five empty barrels, formerly containing a highly flammable chemical, were found in a dumpster under the ownership of a man named Timothy Heevers. Detectives are on their way to the location now to investigate. More news will follow as it is revealed."

Timothy Heevers. Timothy Heevers! Empty barrels of a flammable chemical were found in my dumpster!

I hear the door to my apartment slam open. "Timothy Heevers. You're under arrest."

* * *

><p><strong>OOOH, suspense!<strong>

**It was a short chapter, but I feel you guys needed an update on our girl, Geneva. So there it was!**

**Review and tell me what you think happened or is going to happen!**


End file.
